


for all the things my eyes have seen (the best by far is you)

by WhatsATerrarium



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Canon, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatsATerrarium/pseuds/WhatsATerrarium
Summary: “What’s all this?” she asks, smiling as she tries to hide her blush.“Happy birthday,” he responds softly, walking over to her. He places his hands on her shoulders and looks down at her with that look. The one that makes her feel like she’d hung the stars and built the moon up from bricks with her own two hands. The one that makes her feel powerful, and beautiful, and loved, and scared because no one has ever looked at her like that before.
Relationships: Joan Bright/Owen Thompson | Agent Green
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8
Collections: TBS Secret Santa 2020





	for all the things my eyes have seen (the best by far is you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JannaJams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JannaJams/gifts).



> Happy holidays Janna! I'm your secret santa! I scrapped countless ideas in the process of posting this, but I'm incredibly glad that this is the idea I finally went with.
> 
> Thanks to Tea (justadddirt) for beta reading and to CJ (RadioFreeHayden) for giving me an idea for a 5+1 fic that I did not fully write but that morphed into this.
> 
> The title is from "Cecilia and the Satellite" by Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness.
> 
> Warning for talk of childhood trauma from bullying and a brief reference to sexual harassment.

They weren't even dating when he first asked her birthday. Hell, they’d only barely just met.

She’d mentioned offhandedly that she had a fall birthday. He had asked when.

“What?”

  
“Your birthday. When is it?”

“Oh.”

“If you’re comfortable sharing, that is,” he had added hastily.

“October 1st,” she had responded with a curious smile. “But I don’t ever really do anything for it. Why?”

He gave a little half-shrug, matched with a smile wide as the sky. “I just thought it’d be something good to remember.”

“Right, because of all the important information about superhuman abilities, theoretical science, and applied psychology in those files I just handed you, my birthday is what you should be taking to heart,” she responded playfully.

“Of course it is,” he had responded, the absolute sincerity in his voice despite his lighthearted, goofy smile making her swoon a little more than she had really even been prepared to admit at the time.

This is the encounter he reminds her of when, a few months into their casual, no-labels relationship, she opens the door to his apartment, where he’d asked her to meet him and is immediately caught off guard.

The second she walks in, the smell of food cooking nearly overwhelms her. There’s a bottle of scotch on the table, a beautiful array of flowers in a vase next to it, and music playing. Most importantly, though, there’s a cute boy in a nice outfit waiting for her, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. He’s not dressed up, but he’s apparently changed since getting off work. He’s in the same khakis and belt he’d been wearing before, but rather than keep with the plain white shirt he wears nearly every day, he’s opted for something more colorful. His shirt is a deep blue, and he’s let the top few buttons remain undone. Frankly, she thinks he’d look better in something darker, but he’s clearly trying to impress her, so she won’t ruin the mood with constructive criticism, not now.

When he’d asked her to come over, she had really assumed it was just going to be a hook up fairly early in the evening, not uncommon given when they need to be up for work. And when he said he had dinner, she had thought he meant take-out. She wasn’t expecting this, whatever this is.

“What’s all this?” she asks, smiling as she tries to hide her blush.

“Happy birthday,” he responds softly, walking over to her. He places his hands on her shoulders and looks down at her with  _ that look. _ The one that makes her feel like she’d hung the stars and built the moon up from bricks with her own two hands. The one that makes her feel powerful, and beautiful, and loved, and  _ scared _ because no one has ever looked at her like that before.

“Owen, this is…”

“Too much?” he asks nervously.

_ Yes. _ Too much. That’s her first instinct. Not because she thinks he’s coming on too strong, or because she doesn’t like it, or for any of the reasons she can tell he’s worried about. It’s because her first thought is that this is too much  _ for her. _ Too much effort, thought, and  _ love _ to be devoted to her. It’s the same reason that absolutely adorable, empowering look in his eyes scares her so damn much.

“No,” she says softly. “No this is… thank you.” She smiles and…  _ oh. _ Those might be tears beginning to form in her eyes. She doesn’t want to focus on those. 

So instead she reaches up to place both hands on the back of his head, allowing her to easily pull his face down to her level. She kisses him eagerly, fingers running through his hair and rubbing circles into the back of his head.

She likes kissing him. She always has. Of all the people she’s kissed, Owen is by far her favorite. There’s an eagerness and a passion that makes it feel like he’s trying to show her something, to  _ prove _ something. Just like with everything else he does. Like with the way points out and praises every little detail when he reads her papers and her theories, with the way he always goes out of his way to  _ do things for her _ \-- whether it’s cooking for her, or opening doors for her, or braiding her hair-- hell, it shows in what he’s done tonight. He’s trying to prove something to her.

It’s not that he loves her, no, that’s not what he’s trying to get across. He  _ does _ love her-- it’s not a fact she thinks he’s trying to hide. He loves her and she’s deeply enamored with him, but right now she’s so focused on her work, she’s still so uncertain about letting anyone from the AM get this close to her personal life-- to  _ Mark-- _ she’s still so fucking  _ scared _ of the idea that she’s worth the amount of love that he has to give.

Because that’s what he’s working so hard to show her. That she’s worthy of everything he could give her. That she’s hung the stars in his sky and built his damn galaxy.

She’s not used to being the person people love like that. She’s the little girl who gets asked out on the playground as a joke, the awkward middle schooler who gets things thrown at her from across the classroom, the teenager who gets pushed in the hallways and borderline sexually harassed as a ‘joke’.

She’s used to being an object of ridicule, when she isn’t being disregarded entirely. And while it’s been years since she’s had to endure any of that, that damned feeling never really goes away.

Owen doesn’t ask about it though. If he can see it in the way she stays closed off, works herself half to death, and always freezes a little when he starts to compliment her, he doesn’t say anything. She’ll open up about all of it when she’s ready, and he seems to understand that.

She pulls away when she starts to taste salt, suddenly becoming aware of the tears trailing down her cheeks. He presses a thumb gently to her face, wiping the tears away. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I-- I’m fine. I just… thank you. I had a hard day at work and this is… You’re really amazing, Owen. You know that?”

He blushes and the sight of it makes her smile grow wider. God, he’s adorable.

“I can’t believe you remembered it. I told you, I don’t… I don’t normally  _ do anything-- _ ”

“You deserve to,” he responds, his tone so sweet and sincere as his hands travel down from her shoulders to her waist, beginning to sway slightly.

She wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his chest following his lead with the ever-so-slight movements.

“You deserve a birthday celebration. Even if it’s just us. Even if it’s just me, making you dinner, and rubbing your shoulders, and letting you rant about whatever your day was like.”

“That… honestly sounds like my ideal birthday,” she chuckles, squeezing him a bit tighter and nuzzling her head in closer to him.

He holds her for a bit, continuing to sway a little. “Come on,” he says, breaking the silence he’d let comfortable settle in those few minutes as he runs a hand through her hair. “Dinner should be ready.” He kisses her on the forehead as he pulls away, and she feels something in her heart swell.

Yeah, this is her ideal birthday.

**Author's Note:**

> So a big reason why I don't usually leave comments is that it doesn’t feel like a conversation, it feels too definite. So, as opposed to asking you to leave comments (which I do still very much appreciate and will respond to if that’s your thing), I’m going to let you know how to contact me!
> 
> Instagram: whats_a_terrarium  
> Discord: whats_a_terrarium#0251  
> Tumblr: whats-a-terrarium  
> Twitter: whatsaterrarium
> 
> If you have any thoughts, ideas, constructive criticism, or just want to ramble, never hesitate! :)


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